


Birthday Cake

by interestedbystander



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interestedbystander/pseuds/interestedbystander
Summary: Turns out Bucky Barnes isn’t a big fan of his birthday these days. Even if it’s a milestone… like his 100th.





	Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd post this here. Usually leave my Tumblr stuff on Tumblr, but this seemed to get a good reception and figured I'm share the smut! Enjoy xxx

He had been positively grumpy all day. To the point you almost wished he was away on a mission and as far away from you as possible, the air in the apartment near toxic. If he’d said two words since, “I’m headin’ to the gym” as he pushed himself from bed before you had a chance to even say good morning, it hadn’t been said to you. Sitting in his armchair, he slouched, reading his dog-eared copy of _1984_.

> _**Steve** : Has his mood improved?_
> 
> _**You** : No… I think you should cancel tonight, Cap. I’m sorry. He’s clearly not up to it. He’s like a storm in a teacup._
> 
> _**Steve** : I’m sorry he’s been intolerable today. Today, of ALL days! _
> 
> _**You** : Gotta go, he has risen and might be about to speak to me! _

“Scotch?” he asked you, heading to the small antique globe bar you had found while you were on antique exhibition with Romanoff as a ‘welcome home’ present for Bucky in Brooklyn a few months earlier.

“You know where it is,” you replied, not feeling like walking on eggshells or pandering to his shitty mood any further. You watched as he didn’t bother deign you with a reply, not even snark as he poured himself a generous glass straight from the _Ballantine’s_ before closing the globe and heading back to his seat, placing the bottle on the side table, needing to keep it close.

You sighed inwardly, last thing you wanted was him to hear your frustration as you picked up your phone again.

> _**You** : False alarm, was only looking for booze._
> 
> _**Steve** : I’ve got some of the Asgardian mead in my apartment. Think it’ll lighten him up?_
> 
> _**You** : Nope, I think he’s feeling nostalgic._
> 
> _**Steve** : Hundred year puss, you think? ;-)_
> 
> _**You** : Yeah, positive of it. I will try again and see if I can get anything from him. Wish me luck?_
> 
> _**Steve** : Good luck, kiddo. If things get outta hand, lemme know. I’ll be right there._

You pushed yourself from the stool in the kitchenette and made your way over to Bucky, glass twirling in his cybernetic hand, the other had picked up his book again. He well and truly knew you were before him but didn’t look up, arms gently crossed before you, for the first time in a long time, feeling scared of him – not of his strength, of what he could do to you if he regressed, but where his head was. He would never hurt you, but you had no idea where he was today and it terrified you. You didn’t admit it to Steve, but he sometimes was lucky to miss this part of Bucky’s recovery. The part where Bucky was silent for days and you were expected to just accept it. Not today, you decided, taking the book from his palm, creasing over the page you guessed he was on and placing the book beside the bottle and perching yourself in his lap, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders as his strong body seized under your touch. You heard the gentle break of Bucky’s hand putting a crack in his tumbler, but not enough to smash it.

“I love you,” was all you mumbled to him, your fingers lacing through the ends of his long wisps of dark hair.

“I know, I don’t know why. But I know,” he whispered back, his voice cracking from the day’s underuse. The flesh of his hand wrapped around your back, resting on the hem of your jeans, his thumb digging under your tank top and rubbing against the soft, warm skin of your lower back.

“Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m with you.”

You kissed his temple, massaging the skin on the nape of his neck. “You haven’t even let me wish you a Happy Birthday,” you told him, half-accusing. “I had _big_ plans for you today, birthday boy.”

“Hmm?” he hummed quietly, not sure he wanted to know how he’d ruined both of your days. He snorted. “One hundred! Is it really something I should be celebrating?”

“Every day above ground is a good one,” you reminded him of his own words to you on an especially good day, the day of your first date as you both basked in the sun at Central Park, your head on his tummy as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Today doesn’t feel so good,” he admitted to you. “I’ve been killing people for nearly 75 years. Good and bad people. It’s a lot to try and process on what should be a milestone day. Like an anniversary of constant reminders of people’s last breaths as I stood over them while they begged me for their lives,” he confided as you let him speak, not daring cut in. “Why do you want me?” he asked finally, his self-loathing trying to lure you in, but you weren’t going to give in. Not today.

“You’re my chosen person,” you replied, unable to explain the love and devotion you felt for him. How quickly he weaselled into your bloodstream after those first few meetings when your friends came back to New York from Wakanda, Steve bringing back the ghost of his past. James Buchanan Barnes, he barely said boo for weeks. But occasionally there were glimmers of the Brooklyn boy Steve had told you the stories about, a boyish grin appearing randomly, downright cheeky smartassery while in conversation with Sam or the unbearable times you walked into the gym and he was lifting impossible numbers above his head, muscles rippling through whatever gym clothes he was wearing, sweat drenching him –

“You’re lucky to have me,” you teased him gently. “Do you know how many suitors are waiting in line at the doors to the Tower for me everyday?” None, you knew, but it was still a cute story to boost his ego a little. “But I decide to wake up next to you because you’re all I want and need.”

“That is very silly of you,” he managed a small smirk.

“Probably,” you agreed.

“They planned a big party for me, didn’t they?” Bucky breathed, both hands gripping your hips and pulling your body flush to his, nuzzling into your neck, letting your scent ground him and bring him back to you.

“Huge,” you confirmed. You knew he knew. He was a master assassin and spy, things as silly as a One Hundredth Birthday Party would not get past him that easily.

“Stevie planned it?”

“Worse, Maximoff and Romanoff,” you managed a small giggle. “Very formal, champagne and caviar directly from one of Romanoff’s Russian contacts from the Mother country, apparently.”

Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, less than impressed. “And I have to be there?”

“No,” you shook your head, taking his stubbly cheeks in your hands, forcing his stony eyes to meet yours. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Girls put a lotta effort in?” he asked ruefully.

“Heaps. Tony dropped some serious moolah for you, Sarge.”

“And you had nothing to do with it?” he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

You blushed a little. “Okay, a little. I picked the cake flavour.”

“So, technically you had the biggest decision of the night to make?” he jested as you broke into a small smile, your soldier slowly but surely returning to you. You cursed yourself, knowing you should have tried to have coaxed him back to you sooner. You shrugged coyly. “Out with it then – what flavour, cookie?”

“Well, I know you have the world’s biggest sweet tooth so I suggested red velvet and white chocolate.”

“You know me too well,” his tummy giving him away as it rumbled.

“Did you wanna go?” you asked quietly. “All you have to do it pretend to be surprised when we get there, humour a few well wishers then we can make a discreet exit. We can have our own party here,” you offered, a little suggestively (you really didn’t want to waste that amazing lingerie you had purchased for the occasion. He deserved a day _very_ memorable). 

He licked his lips and hummed appreciatively in contemplation. “So I should go?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Your mind is your own,” you told him, kissing his mouth gently, tasting the scotch on his soft, full lips. “No one else’s.”

God, how you hated saying that. How you hated that this man beneath you had to hear it. He closed his eyes and nodded slightly. “I know,” he looked into your eyes, clutching your sides in the contrasting temperature of his hands against your skin. “When does this shindig start anyway?”

“Nine-ish.”

He spied the wall clock over your shoulder. “Gives us a few hours then,” he stood you both up effortlessly as you squealed in surprise, Bucky wrapping your legs around his waist as he made his way to the bedroom. “We should use this time wisely,” he said, dumping you unceremoniously on the bed, whipping off his t-shirt and crawling up the bed, positioning himself between your legs.

“Finally ready for your birthday bang, huh?” you teased as he lost a hand in your hair, giving it a light pull as he moved your lips to his, his slick tongue probing against yours.

“Have to be my birthday to have you writhin’ and screamin’ in pleasure underneath me?” he wondered, grabbing your ankles and tripping you back against the pillows, his hands snaking up your legs to the button of your jeans and eagerly unfastening them to rid you of them, before letting his lips loose on your belly, dropping wet, hot kisses across your suddenly scorching skin.

“Guess not,” you managed, your fingers snaking into his hair, pulling away the hair tie, nails pressing lightly into his scalp and giving his locks a rough tug, a sharp growl responding to your actions. “Buck, get up here,” you told him, clutching his dog tags in your fist as he obeyed, his lips ascending your body before his lips found yours for another wild, hungry kiss. “It’s your birthday, tell me what you want,” you said, a little breathless after his kiss.

“I’ve already got it,” was all he said as he sat you up to pull away your top, his cybernetic hand tracing around your ribcage from front to back before finding the clasp of your bra and masterfully removing it. The dexterity he shared was always super impressive. “I just want you, losing all control with me and me in the front row,” he said finally, taking in your form, his tongue drawing lazy circles around a nipple at a time, knowing how much it drove you crazy. Again, putting his cybernetic hand to use, he trailed down your front to make light work of discarding your panties.

“Jeans, jeans,” you begged of him to remove. “Need you.”

“I know y’do, sugar,” he teased, easing back to remove his jeans and boxers. He impressed you from top to toe, his body was a marvel. You weren’t entirely sure how you got so lucky but you were pretty sure you were both about to tenfold. “Patience, baby,” he gave himself a few swift pumps and eased himself to his elbows, hovering above you. “I wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, as good as you make me feel everyday,” he swiped his dick through your warm, wet folds a few times slowly before kissing you and sheathing himself in. 

“You feel incredible,” you told him. “I love you, James.”

He gave you that wistful smile that he only shared when you called him by his first name. “Love you,” he declared as he kissed you, not ceasing his fluid movements. He hit all the right spots, his cybernetic arm reaching under you to raise your hips to his and hit you that little higher, leaving you gasping. 

“Right… right there,” you stuttered. “Jesus. Yes…”

Encouraged, he thrust a little harder and flicked his hips a little faster as he lowered you to the bed again. “Tell me you’re close?” he begged, his hair falling into his eyes as he moved his warm hand to your swollen clit, desperately needing the friction to get you there. “Need you to come. For me.”

“I’m close,” you told him as he lowered his mouth to your nipple again, sucking, licking and gently biting along with his skilled fingers pushed you over the over, coming hard as his back curved, forcing himself deeper, his thrusts erratic and spurred on by you, himself exploding with a low grunt, the waves of your orgasm dragging him to his as well before his hips stilled, his breathing shallow as his body fell on yours, spent. 

“Christ,” he muttered, his sweaty forehead melting into the crevice of your neck. “Baby,” he left a trail of kisses across your skin. “That felt so fuckin’ good.”

“Couldn’t let the birthday boy get by without his slice of cake, could I?” you asked innocently, as he raised his head and gave you that wicked, dirty smile, his tongue sweeping his thick lips, his gaze telling you not to get too comfy just yet as his cock twitched, still inside you. 

The super soldier serum, he had previously hypothesised, didn’t allow for much down time when he was in the mood. Maybe the day wouldn’t be a complete fail after all.

* * *

> _**Steve** : Is he still a miserable bastard?_
> 
> _**You** : No. He’s splashing on cologne as we speak. You know what the pretty boy is like when it’s a night on the town._
> 
> _**Steve** : So he’s brightened?_
> 
> _**You** : Considerably. We’ll be there shortly._

Appearing a minute later, Bucky gave a bold smile as he smoothed down his shirt across his chest and buttoned his suit jacket across his waist. He didn’t need to be told how good he looked, he was well and truly aware he was genetically blessed. His hair was combed back neatly into a little bun behind his head and had tidied his beard down to a sharp stubble. A white shirt taut against his muscles, a dark patterned tie hidden under his [dark grey suit](http://eyeson-sebastianstan.tumblr.com/post/128892139959/2015-toronto-international-film-festival-the).

“ _Fuck_ ,” you muttered before you’d realised you’d said the word aloud and blushed.

He scoffed a small laugh. “That good, huh?” he put his phone in the breast pocket of his jacket, approaching you. “Baby, you look incredible,” he told you as he softly took your hand and gently twirled you under his arm to get a good look at your body in the [white lace midi dress](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Floverthelabel.com%2Fshop%2Fviolet-fitted-halter-dress%2F&t=MDM3ZWE3OTA2M2IyZDFjOGJjODJhZTg3NGUyODFjZDU4MGQ1YWZmOCxCMXFubnRGeQ%3D%3D&b=t%3An1QJO-vBo0o1KDTcq9eOdg&p=http%3A%2F%2Finterestedbystanderwrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158237977653%2Fbirthday-cake&m=1), wanting to memorise it all. “This was made for you,” he commented, noticing the material’s close cut to your curves as well as the deadly strappy heels adorning your feet. “Those shoes don’t come off tonight, you hear me?” he warned, kissing just above your pulse as you managed a heady nod, mind already going to a place you may not find yourself for hours yet. Dammit, you realised that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted you on edge all night.

“We should go,” you whispered, scared if you spoke louder, your voice would give away and betray you.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, hand still in yours as you made your way from the apartment to the elevator.

“Happy Birthday, Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY announced as you both wandered in.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, FRIDAY still a bit of a mystery to him. “Uhh, thanks, FRIDAY,” he replied a little uncertainly to the AI as you stifled a giggle.

“Bar, please FRIDAY,” you ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied as the elevator doors closed and rose to the top level of the Tower.

“You ready?” you asked with a grin as he wrapped an arm around you. He nodded, swallowing sharply.

“Yeah, man only turns a hundred once, huh?” he forced out as the doors opened and the room exploded into boisterous celebration. Bucky pulled you a little closer, kissing your temple. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on my birthday cake later on,” he whispered hotly in your ear as his gave a wide smile and started accepting his friends birthday wishes and slipping away from you, leaving you a virtual puddle where you stood. 

“ _Fuck_.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Interested Bystander writes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/interestedbystanderwrites) on Tumblr.  
> 


End file.
